Deviation
by ingra-of-mordor
Summary: In a time of triumph for the Dark Lord, Tom Riddle, freed from the confines of the diary, is bored and decides to entertain himself by taking the only child of Harry Potter as his slave. But will it turn out as he expects? Or will the tides turn?


Disclaimer: (holds up sign that says: No Own Potter, Do Not Sue, I have no Cash)

Author notes: Just trying this latest idea, please review so I know I'm doing okay. Oh, and my Nar/Kag should be finished with a day or so.

Prologue:

The Disease of Boredom

It amused him in that indifferent way that he had grown accustom to that he had spotted her again several years after his imprisonment bending over with the House-Elves, frantically scrubbing the grand hall with the portraits around her sticking their noses up in disgust. Malfoy was always for a good show...Harry Potter's child in rags cleaning his floors...

He smiled to himself and didn't bother to look at her; it was beneath him to do so. He relied on his memory to serve up her image, small child with dark hair and dark eyes. That made it all the better for her presence on the floor because she looked like a Potter. It's what made it so deliciously symbolic, and it was he who had placed her in that situation by not killing her that night. He merely passed her, and she tensed because she knew what he was. Perhaps she recognized him though that was unlikely. Perhaps...

On that night, that Halloween which his other self had chosen with more symbols, she had looked up at him, confused, hurt, and coughing from a mixture of smoke and hysteria, seeming like her mother for a moment. She had asked him in that miniature little voice, knowing without knowing, where exactly her mother was.

He knew she was different for she had grasped his cloak, tugging on it boldly while asking. He smiled down at her, eyes burning, and she backed away instinctively but never looked away, intent on staring the truth out of him.

What an interesting little girl...

"Your mother gave you to me. She can no longer take care of you," he muttered, and she looked back, solemn and knowing...not believing him. How old was she then? About four or five...

His other self, the Idea that he had followed so long, was not pleased. His lord never was pleased; he had been brought back from an inky grave to become the hand of his lord that struck all those who resisted. He was not satisfied with that status, but he was alive again and got to finish his business with the Potters. Yet...even now, he was not satisfied, and he was annoyed.

All that was discussed at the Malfoy Manor was routine: how can we finish the resistance, when shall we find the Order...

Funny, he knew where the Order of the Phoenix was but simply didn't feel like imparting the knowledge. He felt done with it for his business was finished and there was nothing else. He drew circles on the wooden arm of the chair, liking the feeling, disgusted with those around him in their stupidity and the fact that he was considered equal with them; he yearned for another cycle. He wanted to see the defeat of his lord, his Ideal. So he kept the knowledge of the Order secret and safe.

He watched the reflection on the table of the girl whose hair was in tangles down her back and wondered offhandedly if she had the same ruined eyes that her father did.

He could plainly see the marks that Malfoy had created on her shoulders and pale arms. This disquieted him for some reason, and he grew more annoyed. It seemed unreal, this scenario with Malfoy speaking, droning on, the blanks faces, the girl's motion...he gritted his teeth in frustration. He was growing angry.

Later on he roamed the halls vaguely, wandering by the portraits that eyed him warily with his hands behind his back. They knew what he was. He was thriving on hatred now, the same hatred that he had always had. It burned and kept him alive yet he was curiously lacking energy. He was very, very bored. The grand marble and glistening tapestries were blemishes in his sight. He found no pleasure in his exploration.

He imagined he could still hear the squeaking of the girl's rag. What was her full name? He realized he didn't know, and he frowned.

He came upon Mrs. Draco Malfoy in the hallways; the flashy blonde in pink was preening as she walked, but he doubted that would help the matter. He grinned darkly as she looked up and spotted him. She halted like her life had been cut. A nervous smile flashed on her face, but he saw the fear that flooded her eyes at the sight. He felt alive now; it was always that look that brought him to life.

He blocked her path, leaning against the wall casually while arranging his face into a mocking expression.

"Mrs. Malfoy, just who I was looking for..." He smirked, tilting his head.

"Y-you wanted to see me?" Her voice trembled, and she clutched at her necklace, hands plucking the chain nervously.

"I have a question that has been bothering me. Perhaps you can answer it for me."

"Of c-course." Her eyes darted past him, searching hungrily for any sign of her husband or assistance. He drank in her fear eagerly.

"That girl, the Potter girl, what is her full name?"

He suddenly hated the question and hated the person he was asking. His hands twitched in desire for his wand so he could knock away her life for real.

"I-he-her name? I-I don't know. It didn't seem worth knowing...at-t-the time."

Her face contorted in nerves, and she struggled to breathe. Perhaps she realized she was questioning him.

His mood grew darker, and she froze. The girl's name was unknown; he would think of something suitable later.

"How much is she worth to you?"

The stupid woman squinted, trying to decipher the possible trick hidden underneath the words. He took the time to examine her, noting her numerous imperfections and questioned Malfoy's sanity.

"I suppose...not much. She is worthless really. We keep her in the dungeons or the kitchen with the House Elves."

"Then you won't mind if I take her with me," he said dismissively. He was bored so the girl could supply some form of entertainment.

He swept by the stunned woman to continue to wander.

Soon he was on the landing again with his long hands on the railing, surveying the scene with detachment.

He spotted the girl instantly and derived more enjoyment from watching her. He saw that she was dangerously thin, bones showing in her arms. She was still cleaning the floor in that same spot within the view of the Death Eaters. Her body was jerky, probably from her muscles stiffening up from tension and strain. Surely she would create a hole in the floor, but Malfoy was willing to sacrifice that in order to entertain his guest like a good host. What time had passed...three, four hours? He wasn't sure. Time had proven his greatest enemy.

On her wrists, she bore the sign of a slave, thick bracelets of Cyprus that absorbed her magic. Her wrists were so small that the only things keeping her powerless almost slipped off. Several of the Death Eaters swarmed around her, planning to approach her with sharp tongues but stopped when they saw he was watching. He didn't know why they thought he would care because he didn't. Perhaps, if they did approach her, she would react. So he averted his eyes for the sake of experimentation.

They could no longer contain themselves. Goyle walked by her, his boot making contact with one small hand. She jerked back but did not cry out even if her hand was surely broken. He became absorbed again, interested once more. Interesting girl...still defiant...Malfoy had not broken her yet. In fact she gripped the rag in determination and with her injured hand resumed cleaning the dulled marble like nothing had occurred, like she felt no pain.

Crabbe came next and lacking pretense, kicked her in her side. She fell but kept her face from their sight and grabbed the rag once more. He felt a smile bloom on his face. He had to take her with him.

Soon a whole mass of men had descended upon her, kicking and tearing at her. The rest of the guests simply ignored the display, sipping on the drinks and chatting.

His footsteps made them scatter. The girl was attempting to get back in her position to continue on but ended up remaining close to the floor, curled up. He would have been amazed if she had been able to move.

He weaved his way through the crowd that parted for him instinctively and spotting the wispy, aristocratic man, headed in that direction.

Draco Malfoy suddenly found himself facing the younger terror alone. But, to his credit, he kept his composure and eyed his opponent evenly, even amiably. He raised his eyebrows in question.

Malfoy was much too arrogant for his liking. Riddle made sure he saw building uneasiness before voicing his request. It wasn't like Malfoy had a say in the matter.

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably, turning his eyes to the ground, jaw twitching.

He was satisfied.

"Quite the speech you gave, Malfoy. Inspiring..." He smirked, and Malfoy's jaw twitched again, the man obviously wanting to retort but not daring to. "Though I did find my attention wandering and also found that you have something in your possession that I want."

Malfoy took a step back, holding his glass so tight it might shatter.

"A-and what would that be...?" The blonde struggled to keep his voice even and in the realm of respectful.

Riddle gestured casually towards the entrance way.

"The Potter girl, your wife informed me she was of no use to you, and I decided to take her off your hands."

"You were misinformed. She is..." Malfoy trailed off as he glimpsed the look that had appeared on Riddle's face. "O...of no use."

"I knew you'd see reason."

But as he turned his back on the man, he planned to get Malfoy back for his disrespect. It disturbed him that Malfoy thought he could talk back and possibly refuse him. He sensed something deeper in that and wondered what opinion Malfoy's lord...his lord had of him.

His presence seemed to have defused the mood and many had Disapparated. The Potter girl remained in the position he had left her in, apparently drifting in and out of consciousness.

Malfoy would pay if the girl was damaged before he could have his fun.

Draco Malfoy stood opposite him, chewing on his lip in anger, and Riddle straightened, tiring of the Manor and Malfoy's face.

"Shall I?" Draco hissed, motioning with restrained violence to the figure.

"Don't bother. Now she's none of your concern."

He waved his hand in a dismissive motion, and Malfoy flushed pink. Then Riddle remembered something as Malfoy turned to stalk off.

"Oh, and Malfoy." The blonde halted to glare over his shoulder. "Crucio."

He was surprised when her master's screams didn't wake the girl, and he put more force into the Cruciatus to see if she would come to. Soon all the House-Elves were peaking around the banister, and he vaguely heard Mrs. Malfoy yelling wildly at someone he assumed she had contacted through the fireplace. She really must be as empty-headed if she truly thought anyone liked Malfoy enough to come and face him. Still the girl didn't stir. He held the curse for a few more pleasurable moments before releasing Malfoy who collapsed.

"Remember this pain whenever you see me...and don't you ever dare disrespect me again..."

Malfoy crawled away, and he was left alone with his prize. He kneeled down beside her and moved her head slightly. He frowned, disappointed when he caught sight of blood gathering at the corners of her mouth. He picked up her wrist, moving the bracelet to feel for a pulse. Malfoy's life was spared when he felt the steady rhythm of her heart.

He Levitated the limp body and Disapparated, leaving the echoes of Mrs. Malfoy's screams behind him.

Please review - You know I live for it.


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